


A Captain's Tale

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Parallels, The Most Minor of Spoilers for Episode 42 of Campaign 2, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 15:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Captain Vandren tells his new green sailor (in more ways than one) the tale of Dashilla the Dreadful.





	A Captain's Tale

Fjord’s been at sea for two weeks, and he’s still getting bouts of seasickness, to his embarrassment. He’s heard the other sailors joke about how green he is, a word that refers to his inexperience and the color of his skin, he thinks, which probably turns an even darker green when he isn’t feeling well. There had been a smattering of chuckles as he had rushed up onto deck this evening and lost the contents of his stomach again, and he had just laughed weakly as he had stared down into the dark water.

“See anything interesting down there?”

Fjord jumps at the sound of his captain’s voice and turns around quickly, then stifles a groan as his stomach lurches again. “Captain Vandren, I was just—“

Vandren smiles at him and places a hand on his shoulder. “My advice is to keep an eye on the horizon and breathe deep. Nothing to be embarrassed about, happens to everyone first time out at sea.”

_Even you, sir?_ Fjord thinks to himself, but he doesn’t dare ask the question out loud. If it wasn’t for Vandren, he’d still just be a dock rat begging for work, loading and unloading ships for whatever coin would be thrown his way. Being part of a crew, being a part of _something_ is all Fjord has ever wanted in life, and he’s not going to risk it by saying something that could be interpreted as insolence. Instead he turns and looks at the horizon and takes a few shaking breaths.

“Thought you might have been looking for Dashilla’s treasure,” Vandren says with a chuckle in his voice.

“Sir?” Fjord keeps staring at the horizon, which stays steady even as the ship gently rocks.

“Ah, no one’s told you the tale yet? That’s a surprise.”

Fjord hears the captain move and then he’s leaning on the bow of the ship next to Fjord, as easy as you please, looking out over the water into the blue black of the night.

“It was my first captain who told me the story, back when I was as young and green as you.”

Fjord wonders just how young the captain thinks he is. Then again, he’s not sure how old the captain is either, even with his salt and pepper hair and the faint lines in his face. After all, there is gray in Fjord’s own hair as well and he’s only nearing thirty.At least, he thinks that’s how old he is. The orphanage hadn’t been known for their record keeping.

“Once, there was a pirate captain by the name of Dashilla, fair of face and quick of temper, whose love of all that glittered and sparkled was only rivaled by her lust for violence. Dashilla the Dreadful they called her, and there was no hope for any merchant vessel or Concord ship that she set her sights on. The merchant ships she would strike at in broad daylight, slaughtering the crew to a man before taking her spoils. As for the Concord patrol ships, well, she’d wait until dark and then use her lantern to flash distress signals, knowing that the patrol ships would be duty-bound to go investigate. Once they were close, well, many a Concord ship that lays on the ocean floor now was due to her, so they say.

“No one knows for sure how she died. Some say she attacked a merchant vessel that had some fierce adventurers on board, or that she became so hungry for wealth that she dared attacked another pirate ship and that’s what did her in. Either way, the results were the same, a burial at sea. But a spirit such as hers wasn’t content to rest easy, of course. She haunts the waters around here to this day, and some say that if you stare down into the dark water long enough, you’ll see lantern light glinting off the treasure of a hundred sunken ships and be filled with the urge to go diving in after it. Some even say that if you listen very closely, you can hear her voice telling you to jump.”

Fjord finds himself leaning over the bow slightly, entranced by the captain’s words. He sees nothing below him but dark water, hears nothing but the movement of sailors on deck and the creaking of both timbers and rope.

“And this is the part where my captain clapped me on the back and I almost fell overboard,” Vandren says with a chuckle. “Apparently that’s the traditional ending to the tale, but I’ll spare you that.”

“I greatly appreciate it,” Fjord says as he raises his head to look at his captain. “Have _you_ seen anything in the water, sir?” He means it as a joke, but when the captain’s good humor of a moment ago falls from his face, when his eyes go distant and dark, Fjord immediately regrets his words.

“I have seen light in the water,” Vandren whispers. “And I have seen what lurks in the depths, behind the shipwrecks and the gardens of bone. I have seen eyes, so many eyes. They whisper….”

Vandren goes quiet, and Fjord finds himself waiting for the captain to shout “boo”, like the orphans who used to stay up late telling scary stories to make the little kids scream. Instead the quiet stretches, prickles of unease fraying at Fjord’s nerves like a cat’s claws on a piece of string.

Fjord slowly reaches out and puts a hand on Vandren’s shoulder, feels the muscles underneath his palm twitch, sees awareness flow back into the captain’s eyes and posture like water flooding a boat. “Sir?”

“Are you feeling better?” Vandren asks, like nothing at all has happened.

“Yes sir,” Fjord says, ignoring the feeling of dread still curled around his spine and the queasiness of his stomach, because that is the easiest answer to give, what his captain wants to hear.

“Good, good,” Vandren replies with a thin smile. “You should get some rest. Sleep well.”

Fjord does not sleep well that night. He dreams of ghosts with glowing yellow eyes and feral grins, of being pulled beneath the waves by claws that refuse to let him go, of whispers in the water.

**********

“Ahh, Dashilla the Dreadful! You’ve heard of her?” Sorris is talking to Jester, his smile wide and his eyes bright.

Fjord doesn’t hear Jester’s reply. It feels like the floor beneath him is moving, and he suddenly clutches his mug of ale as if it might go sliding off the table, though the table itself remains steady. A cold sweat break out on his forehead as nausea curls in his stomach like a snake.

Across from him Avantika grins too widely, her eyes glittering like gold underwater. It’s all Fjord can do to meet the captain’s gaze (not _his_ captain, for all that he’s her quartermaster, she’s not his captain, she’s _not_ ) and try not to shudder as around him a song starts up about Dashilla the Dreadful and her hungry eyes while Avantika looks at him with hungry eyes of her own.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think the tale of Dashilla is one of those stories that changes depending on where it's told or who tells it. In my drafts I have Jester telling the Traveler about the poems she's read about Dashilla and it's both different and similar to the tales that the sailors tell.
> 
> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


End file.
